


The Perverse Clarity of Nostalgia

by pasdexcuses



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an old prompt where Eduardo gets amnesia.</p>
<p>  <i>It is so, so unfair. Eduardo would have given everything to have this moment, way back when. He had wished, wanted, hoped for Mark to be there for him.</i> </p>
<p>  <i>And now Mark is, and Eduardo can’t feel it anymore. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perverse Clarity of Nostalgia

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on the characters as portrayed in the movie The Social Network, not real people. And, obviously, I’m not making any money from this. 

 

**_The Perverse Clarity of Nostalgia_ **

 

He wakes up to a sharp pain on his shoulders. The pain makes him open his eyes in one swift movement that turns out to be a mistake because everything around him is too bright. The light blinds him for a few seconds before his eyes start to adjust by stages. He blinks a couple of times, wills himself not to panic as he takes in a white ceiling. 

 

His head falls back onto the pillow when he tries to crane his neck forward. Everything in his body feels sore. The kind of soreness you feel after you break a bone and the cast finally comes off. The kind of soreness that only comes from muscles that haven’t been moved for too long. He would know, he used to give his mother headaches with all the times he broke his foot and wrist. Weak bones and too many risky activities for a thirteen year-old. It was part of his rebellious phase. It was his own way of saying _fuck you_ to his parents for forcing him to move to a strange place where he knew no one and everyone made fun of his accent.

 

He has felt this soreness before. The pain is not exactly new. What is new is that this time, he cannot remember how this happened. The last thing he remembers is driving to his hotel after _You had one friend_ and _Point zero three percent_. 

 

The last thing he remembers is getting what he wanted. Except not really. 

 

Because the only thing Eduardo Saverin wanted is the one thing he will never have.

 

Where the fuck is he?

 

*

 

The next time Eduardo wakes up, it is to someone moving around him. The soreness in his body is still there but he can manage a low groan.

 

“Mr Saverin?” someone, a woman, speaks.

 

Blinking a couple of times, Eduardo tries to focus on her face. 

 

She stares back at him before placing her hand on Eduardo’s shoulder and saying, “I’ll page the doctor.”

 

It is only then that Eduardo notices her for real. He notices her tidy ponytail and her clothes.

 

_Hospital_.

 

What happened?

 

*

 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Myers,” the doctor introduces himself while examining Eduardo’s eyes. “Could you tell me your name and age?”

 

When Eduardo tries to make coherent words, only noise comes out. His throat sounds like the motor of a car slowly dying.

 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Eduardo answers, his voice tiny, barely above a whisper.

 

“Eduardo Saverin, twenty-three.”

 

Dr Myers pauses the routine examination to take what Eduardo assumes is his medical chart.

 

He frowns before asking, “What is the last thing you remember?”

 

“Signing,” Eduardo starts but his voice gets caught, and he cannot continue.

 

“Anything about your accident?” the doctor prompts.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Do you know which year we’re in?”

 

“2006.” 

 

His hoarse voice is Eduardo’s first concern. The way he sounds unfamiliar to his own ears. But then Dr Myers stays silent for too long. He is about to say something. To ask what has happened, when Dr Myers speaks again.

 

“Mr Saverin, the year is 2011.”

 

“ _What_?” Eduardo asks, head spinning.

 

“Mr Saverin, you were in a car crash. You were brought into the ER on November 4th, 2010. You’re right now in the Palo Alto General Hospital. It’s the 16th of February. Mr Saverin, do you remember _anything_ about your accident?”

 

“I… No.”

 

“Mr Saverin, I’m afraid you’re suffering from short term memory loss.”

 

And when did five years become _short term_ , Eduardo would like to know. 

 

“What… happened?”

 

“You sustained multiple injuries,” Dr Myers starts, reading off Eduardo’s chart. “A fracture on your right wrist, dislocated shoulder, multiple grazes and glass cuts. You have been in a comma for roughly three months. We have tended to all your wounds and have kept examinations to make sure we haven’t missed any other injuries. At the moment, all your physical—”

 

Dr Myers stops abruptly when someone opens the door to Eduardo’s room.

 

“What’s happened?” 

 

Eduardo’s stomach flips over. It sinks and fills with butterflies. The vertigo is so bad Eduardo thinks he is going to vomit all over himself. But he does not. He closes his eyes and swallows down the bitter taste on his tongue. 

 

“Ah, I see your emergency contact has arrived,” Dr Myers announces. 

 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

 

“Mr Saverin has just woken up.”

 

Eduardo hears footsteps walking towards him. He feels Mark’s hand on his before he allows himself to open his eyes and see Mark’s face.

 

“Wardo,” Mark whispers, squeezing Eduardo’s hand.

 

Eduardo has to swallow harder this time because it is not just the bile, it is also the same heavy lump that clogs his throat. 

 

“Hey,” Mark says, smiling and biting his lip, smiling widely, openly despite the bags under his eyes and his paler-than-usual skin. “You’re awake,” he points out, his other hand now tracing patterns on Eduardo’s forehead. 

 

Eduardo does not miss a beat. He registers the ring to Mark’s voice. The way he sounds relieved and happy as he takes a seat right next to Eduardo’s bed. 

 

Before, Eduardo would have killed anyone so Mark could sound like that.  

 

Now? Now, Eduardo’s hands tremble, his fingers itching to curl up in fists and hit Mark square on the face for sounding like that.

 

For saying Wardo like nothing has happened between them.

 

For being Eduardo’s emergency contact.

 

For being here, next to Eduardo as though he gives a shit when he never has. 

 

If Eduardo could find it in him to speak, he would say _go fuck yourself_. He would say _fuck off, I don’t need you here_. 

 

Instead, Eduardo groans low in his throat. Mark squeezes his hand a little tighter. A little like he wants to tell Eduardo that this fine. That he has got this.

 

“So what now?” Mark asks, turning his face to Dr Myers. 

 

“As I was saying, Mr Saverin, your physical injuries have been treated. You will need physical therapy to regain full functionality on your muscles. Your prognosis, physically speaking, looks very promising. However, as I already said, it appears you have suffered some memory loss.”

 

“Memory loss?” Mark parrots, his eyes staring into Eduardo’s.

 

“Mr Saverin, what is the last thing you remember?” the doctor asks again, as if to prove his point to Mark.

 

Eduardo breathes in, turns his face away from Mark’s. He shuts his eyes and tries his voice once, twice.

 

“Signing.” Eduardo sighs heavily. “A non-disclosure agreement.”

 

Mark’s hands on Eduardo still almost immediately. The hand on his forehead is gone but the one on Eduardo’s hand remains there. Mark’s grip is less possessive, less certain but there. He still won’t let go. 

 

“Wardo,” Mark whispers.

 

And Eduardo would punch him, he really would, if he could. 

 

“Memory loss is not unusual in patients with head trauma. Mr Saverin, your scans show no lesions so there’s nothing major to worry about,” Dr Myers explains. “We’ve been monitoring Mr Saverin’s progress very closely, as you well know, Mr Zuckerberg,” he adds in a tone that is more concealed annoyance than anything else.

 

Eduardo cannot remember the last five years of his life and that is nothing major? 

 

“Will he get his memories back?” Mark asks.

 

“Only time will tell. Most patients do, eventually. Some, however, never get those memories back. Mr Saverin, you’ll have to work hard on your recovery. Physical therapy is mandatory, and while you’re still here, I’ll refer you to a psychologist that is a specialist in these situations.”

 

“How long does he have to stay here?”

 

“Two weeks to make sure we haven’t missed anything. Then you can go back home.”

 

Mark asks more questions that Eduardo does not hear because he is honestly too tired. Closing his eyes, Eduardo tells himself this is a nightmare. It is a nightmare and soon he will wake up in his hotel room. His alarm clock will go off and Eduardo will get ready for his flight to New York. He will wake up to the thick folder holding the settlement papers and an empty room. It is sick joke, Eduardo thinks, because that life, too, is a nightmare in and of itself. But at least he will remember it.

 

It is the lesser evil.

 

It has to be.

 

*

 

Eduardo wakes up in the same room a few hours later. 

 

He wants to scream his lungs out, wants to kick off the hospital sheets and run out. As fast as he can. 

 

He cannot, mostly because when Eduardo finally mages to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, his knees wobble and he falls, face first on the floor, not even a foot away from the bed. 

 

*

 

Mark comes everyday, and Eduardo pretends to be asleep. He always sits on the same seat next to Eduardo’s bed, waiting. 

 

“I know you’re awake,” Mark says one day. When Eduardo does not answer, Mark continues, picking up a conversation, just like he used to, before the lawsuit, before Facebook. “Did you know that you’re listed as my emergency contact and I’m listed as yours?” Mark asks but Eduardo keeps pretending. “You asked me who my emergency contact was when you first moved and were filling in the forms. I had no idea so we called Chris, who of course had a freak out, thinking I was in the hospital because I had finally starved myself to death.” There is a small hint of amusement in Mark’s words that makes Eduardo’s chest go warm and tight in a heartbeat. “You ended up listing me and I changed from Dustin to you. That was a month before you decided to buy a house.” A pause. “There’s only two of us and the house has three additional rooms. We’re using one as a guest room and you use another one to keep some of your stuff from Harvard. Lots of books. Boring ones. You have a lot of boring books, Wardo.”

 

_I know_ .

 

“Our kitchen is huge. Like, seriously. I think you just bought the place for the kitchen. There’s no pool though. There’s a backyard and a living room and a dining room. It’s the perfect house for the perfect American family. I don’t even know how you talked me into living there, it’s too big.”

 

Mark goes on and on with the descriptions of their house and the kind of car Eduardo drives. He talks about Eduardo’s office and his assistant. He rambles on and on about things that are not Facebook or code, and Eduardo cannot help himself.

 

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asks while Mark is talking about their annoying neighbors. 

 

“You need to know about your life.”

 

“It’s not my life if I can’t remember it.”

 

*

 

Eduardo’s therapist is a middle-aged woman named Rita. She has short, grayish hair and red-rimmed glasses. She makes Eduardo talk a lot.

 

About the last things he remembers.

 

The depositions.

 

The settlement.

 

He says he cannot go into the details because he signed a non-disclosure agreement. She stops taking notes to eye him skeptically. She nods like she does not believe him but won’t press the matter. 

 

It bothers Eduardo.

 

Because he is not lying.

 

He really cannot tell.

 

“And this Mark, he is the same man you’re living with right now?”

 

Eduardo swallows.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What is the last thing you remember saying to him?” 

 

“I… I told him I was his only friend.”

 

This time, she quirks up an eyebrow at him.

 

“Was this during the depositions?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, five years ago.”

 

Eduardo nods.

 

God, five fucking years.

 

“Eduardo, I want you to do something for me. I want you to close your eyes. Close your eyes and try to remember the moment you woke up in the hospital. What do you remember?”

 

“Numbness. I feel numb.”

 

“What else?”

 

“Disoriented. My eyes… it’s too bright.”

 

“Before that, what do you remember before that.”

 

Eduardo tries. He closes his eyes hard and tries with all his might to fill in the gap between then and now.

 

But his minds draws a complete blank.

 

“Nothing.”

 

*

 

“He’s asleep,” Eduardo hears the nurse say.

 

He is not asleep. He is barely awake but not entirely asleep.

 

“Okay.”

 

Eduardo wonders if he should let Mark know he is half-awake. He decides against it as soon as Mark starts speaking.

 

“I… I don’t own a car. I can drive but I don’t own a car,” Mark states. He pauses to breathe. “I don’t own a car so you drop me off and pick me up every day. Facebook’s offices are on your way, anyways. We’re being environmentally-friendly. Well, that’s what you said. And I never did complain because I liked that. I like spending time with you, even if we’re just in a car. It’s stupid, I know. But you didn’t mind.” A pause. “I really miss you, Wardo. I miss _us_. Yesterday, when you asked, I… The thing is, I think I need this, too. I… Jesus, Wardo I don’t even know what I’m saying. I just. I just want you back.”

 

*

 

The following day Mark comes in with a box labeled ‘ _Wardo_ ’. Eduardo cannot look at Mark in the eyes. 

 

“Wardo, I brought you some stuff. Like, clothes and pictures and, uh, yeah, stuff. Because I’ve been reading that people say stimulation is really good for, you know, memory loss, and really I can’t just _tell_ you everything. So, um, I can stay and, like, tell you whatever you want to know about these things.” 

 

Mark waits for Eduardo’s reply but Eduardo cannot speak, cannot look at Mark’s eyes. 

 

“Or I can leave you the box and go for a walk,” Mark says sounding impossibly defeated. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna do that.” 

 

Mark leaves the box on the chair he usually sits on. It is not exactly small but it is not really all that big. Eduardo wonders which part of his life Mark decided to bring him.

 

Inside, there is a flashdrive that is really a bit useless considering Eduardo has no laptop with him. There is also a framed photo of Mark and Eduardo, Eduardo’s arm wrapped around Mark’s waist. Eduardo cannot even recognize the setting. In a corner, Eduardo finds a mug. He breathes out a sigh when he sees that their faces are not printed on the thing. Instead, the mug is plain black. Taking it out, Eduardo makes this whole act of holding it in his hands. He tries holding it as he usually holds his cups. He tries smelling imaginary coffee off it. Eduardo even tries bringing the mug to his lips. Nothing happens. No small sensations, no fleeting memories, no nothing. It is a plain black mug that tells him absolutely nothing.

 

There is other stuff that Eduardo is not all that interested in. A sweatshirt Eduardo remembers from Harvard along with some socks that Eduardo distinctly recalls buying the summer after his sophomore year. They have golden snitches on them. Eduardo bought them for Mark on his trip to London. They are quirky and reminded him of Mark. Eduardo remembers giving them while saying ‘ _Your white socks are so boring, I think that’s why you can’t get laid. Plus, I really think these go spectacularly well with your flip-flops_. ’ Yeah, Eduardo still remembers Harvard. 

 

Sighing, Eduardo takes out a hoodie. He does not know if this one was Mark’s or his own because, back at Harvard, they used wear each other’s clothes. Which basically translated to Mark stealing whatever he thought he needed from Eduardo. It rarely worked the other way around because Mark has alway been two sizes too small for Eduardo. Except when it comes to hoodies because Mark buys hoodies that are too large even for Eduardo. Eduardo cannot recall anything specific about this hoodie or anything else in the box, not counting the socks. Yet, he has this strange impulse to wear it. So Eduardo, probably violating hospital protocol on clothes, takes it from the box and pulls it over his head. It is warm and comfortable. It gives Eduardo a sense of belonging. It is not much. Not a memory. Just something Eduardo has been needing for a while. 

 

* 

 

As promised, two weeks after, the doctor clears Eduardo to go home. It’s already late in the evening so he agrees to go with Mark out of convenience more than anything else.

 

To Eduardo’s surprise, the house where Mark lives actually seems as though it is regularly used. There are all these pictures of Chris, Dustin, Mark and Eduardo looking happy, or drunk, or maybe both. They kind of remind Eduardo of the things he has been missing the most ever since he decided to sue Mark. But these are nothing compared to those photos of Mark and Eduardo. He is not sure what he expected. Not this. 

 

Not his own face smiling back at him. Not Mark’s frozen expression of sheer happiness. 

 

“Wardo?” Mark asks as he leads them upstairs.

 

He stops when Eduardo’s steps falter in front of a frame that holds a photo of Eduardo wearing a sunhat that makes him look like Disney cartoon brought to life. His arm is draped over Mark’s shoulder, who, in turn, is grinning at the camera. 

 

“That was… uh, last year.” 

 

“Right.” 

 

They climb the remaining stairs in silence. They go into the master bedroom, and Eduardo cannot deny living here. The room is huge, with its tall, white walls but also quite simple. It has Eduardo’s name written all over it. From the creamy mattress to the dark wooden nightstands on each side, everything screams his own name. It is scary to point Eduardo asks himself whether or not Mark took any part in deciding how the room should look. 

 

“You sort of went crazy at Home Depot and I, uh, I really didn’t know much about shopping for a _house_ so, uh, this sort of happened,” Mark offers because he apparently can read Eduardo’s mind.

 

“How did you…” Eduardo starts. “Never mind.”

 

Mark smiles at him, lopsided, _fondly_. Eduardo’s heart jumps.

 

“You had that same expression on your face when this room was finished. You said it was too much like you and too little like me.”

 

Of course Eduardo would say that.

 

“So, uh, that’s why we have, the, um… the rocket sheets?” Mark stutters out in this entirely adorable way that Eduardo definitely does not find adorable, blush included. 

 

“We have rocket sheets?” Eduardo parrots because what even? “Do they even make king-sized rocket sheets?”

 

“Look, you dragged me back to Home Depot and, you know, I sort of saw them. Then you caught me staring so we bought them, okay? It’s practically your fault,” Mark deadpans in a tone that makes Eduardo almost smile.

 

Instead, he says, “I can’t believe we have rocket sheets.”

 

“And a lava lamp.”

 

“Is that one my fault, too?”

 

“More like Dustin’s. It’s in the bathroom, though. Gives you headaches. I think you should sleep here, you know, all that stuff about stimulation,” Mark says, stepping towards the closets, gesturing at the left one. “This one’s yours. Your toothbrush is the orange one and… Oh, I’ll get you a towel for tomorrow,” he continues, striding out of the bedroom.

 

Mark comes back with a towel he promptly hands over. Eduardo takes it and just… stands there, waiting for Mark to do something. However, Mark is about as good at this as Eduardo is. He, too, stays there, shifting his weight and biting nervously at his bottom lip. 

 

“I think I should sleep in the guest room,” Eduardo finally breaks the silence.

 

And out of nowhere, a frown is replacing the nervous expression on Mark’s face.

 

“What? No, no, you _have_ to sleep in here. It’ll be good. Our bed is fantastic, seriously.”

 

_Our bed_. 

 

Oh, God. 

 

Eduardo does not want to think about the kind of things his face is saying right now. Besides the obvious angry-red blush that creeps down his neck. Jesus. This is so awkward. 

 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Mark supplies.

 

But then Mark is leaning closer, and Eduardo almost jumps out of his skin when Mark’s hand reaches out to him. 

 

Mark’s eyes widen.

 

“Don’t worry,” he says flatly, turning on his heels, his back to Eduardo. “I’m not sleeping in here with you.” 

 

Eduardo stares at the empty space Mark just left. He stares down the hall, hearing Mark moving about. Eduardo counts the seconds until he hears a door opening and closing. Shutting his own door, Eduardo turns to the bed. 

 

Sitting down, Eduardo admits Mark is not lying. The bed is stupidly comfortable. Stupidly perfect.

 

Except for the fact that Eduardo hates sleeping in big beds. They feel… They are too big for him. 

 

*

 

That night, Eduardo starts lying right on the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling. It does not take long before he starts shuffling to the right side of the bed on instinct. He ends curled up on his side, facing the empty space on the bed. Extending his arm, Eduardo touches the deserted mattress. He knows Mark sleeps on this side. He just _knows_. 

 

Turning so he is facing the wall, Eduardo reaches out to open a drawer in the nightstand. There is an iTouch in there that Eduardo barely recognizes as he picks it up. He has heard about them, has seen the advertising these things have gotten but Eduardo does not remember them ever going out on the market, much less owning one. It is silly, but he feels like he is in a sci-fi movie, and he just stumbled by accident into the future.

 

It takes him two seconds to turn it on and about a ten to figure out how to start browsing what is in it. Eduardo notices it is his as he goes through artists and songs. He finally gets to the playlists. 25 Most Played, Recently Added, one labeled work, two On-the-go and one labeled _Mark_. That one is the first he opens. He puts the headphones on and starts playing. Eduardo recognizes some songs. It has the Star Wars soundtrack, which, okay, that is very Mark. But then there is a song Eduardo remembers playing in the background back in Mark’s Harvard bedroom. There are a lot of songs Eduardo cannot recognize but immediately likes. If not for the music, he likes them for the way they make him feel.  

 

By the time Eduardo reaches the end of the playlist, he is still wide awake. Turning the TV on, Eduardo sets it on mute as he flips through the channels. The playlist is set to repeat, and Eduardo stares at shows he does not know as he listens to music he cannot remember properly. At last, Eduardo falls asleep.

 

*

 

By the time Eduardo wakes up the following morning, Mark is gone. There is a post-it in the kitchen next to the coffee machine written in Mark’s still appalling handwriting. 

 

_‘Gone to work. Call me if you need anything._

_-Mark’_

 

He pours himself some coffee, while trying very hard to forget standing in the airport, waiting. He drinks his coffee and tries to forget _You signed the papers_. Eduardo takes smalls sips, tries not to burn his tongue and forget.

 

He walks out of the kitchen, mug in hand. 

 

Eduardo finds out most things on his own. The password to the wireless is saved on his own laptop. He finds they apparently have a healthy diet. He still owns more suits than casual clothes but somehow has more hoodies and cargos than ever before. Eduardo finds out his shampoo smells nice and that the lava lamp Mark mentioned really gives him headaches. He finds out that they have a cleaning lady (she has keys with which she nearly gives Eduardo a panic attack when she comes in late in the morning) who calls him Mr. Saverin and asks if he is okay. Eduardo asks how many times a week she comes. She comes on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and two Saturdays a month. Her name is Elsa.

 

“Have you had any breakfast yet?” she asks.

 

“No.”

 

“Well, I’ll make you something, then. Mr. Zuckerberg said to make sure you’re always comfortable,” Elsa replies.

 

“Mark spoke with you?”

 

“Oh, yes, he called this morning.”

 

*

 

Elsa makes him scrambled eggs and orange juice. Eduardo takes his pills and goes back into the master bedroom, where he takes a shower before he resumes looking at his life. He finds a spreadsheet with all his contacts but he cannot recognize most of the names so he leaves it alone for another time. 

 

Eduardo goes to browse through drawers. Nothing in the house tells Eduardo how this happened. This house is a happy life Eduardo cannot remember getting. 

 

After making no progress with his memory, Eduardo decides to watch a movie. He has seen about three of the movies in their collection. 

 

The rest of the day grows progressively more boring. Eduardo goes to the kitchen at one point but once he realizes he can’t remember where the knives and forks are, where the salt is kept, where salsas go, he drifts out. The fact that he can’t even place items in his own kitchen is depressing enough to keep him away.

 

Elsa goes around three, and Mark gets back around six, bringing take-out. He asks Eduardo about his day but when Eduardo answers almost reluctantly, he stops trying. Leaving the take-out in the kitchen, Mark announces he has to go code. Eduardo shrugs. 

 

Eduardo is not hungry so he goes to bed, leaving the take-out there. He hesitates before he goes upstairs, wonders if maybe he should put the food in the fridge, but Mark has not eaten either. 

 

In bed, Eduardo does not get much sleep but he does not think much of it. 

 

He wakes up to an equally bleak, boring day. The only think that strikes Eduardo’s attention is the post-it where the words _call me_ are now underlined.

 

He still ignores it.

 

As best as he can.

 

Which is not at all.

 

*

 

Eduardo has to admit he is having problems falling asleep. If the first night was bad and the second slightly worse, the ones that follow are brought from hell. If he manages two hours, he does not get past one hour the following night. Sometimes, he will be too tired to take a shower. Mark notices and tells Eduardo he should go to the hospital. There is a moment Eduardo thinks Mark will actually drive him himself but Mark just hands Eduardo his wallet. 

 

“I found it the other day,” Mark says as he hands the wallet over. “You should have it.”

 

Eduardo does not know what the problem really is. He tries sleeping on his back, on his right side, on his left side, on his chest. He tries sleeping on the right side of the bed, then on the left. He tries sleeping with one, two pillows, then with none. He tries sleeping at the foot of the bed. Eduardo wonders if it is because the bed is too big and he is just not used to it so he actually ends up on the floor and downstairs on a couch once. 

 

He still cannot sleep.   

 

*

 

He wakes in the hospital on Friday, two weeks and a half after he was first released. 

 

This time, Eduardo at least remembers what happened. Or well, he can infer he blacked out after taking a shower. Probably because he has not been sleeping at all. 

 

“You passed out,” Mark says as soon as Eduardo opens his eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping. You should’ve told me.” He pauses. Eduardo would say it is all for dramatic effect except Mark’s never been one for drama. “Elsa called me after she dialed 911 when she found you passed out on the floor. I told you, if there’s _anything_ wrong you can tell me,” Mark insists. Eduardo kind of feels like an idiot for passing out. “I’ll tell the nurse you’re awake.” And with that, Mark goes out. 

 

He comes back with Dr Myer.

 

“So, Mr. Saverin. You passed out because you’ve been sleep-deprived, that much should be obvious to you. Usually, I’d prescribe something. However, I can’t have you taking any more pills, your liver wouldn’t take all the medications. So, here’s a recipe for a home-made tea.” He hands a paper to Eduardo. “Drink it at night, that should help a little. If you notice you’re still not sleeping enough, come back.”

 

Mark takes the paper from the doctor, asking, “Is that it? You can’t do anything else?”

 

“Mr. Zuckerberg, I understand that you’re worried but I can’t give him anything else without risking liver failure or him going into cardiac arrest.” 

 

“So, that’s it?” 

 

Dr Myers inhales. “Just make sure you get proper rest, Mr. Saverin,” he says before heading out. 

 

There is silence in the room before Mark speaks again. “Would you like me to bring you anything?” he asks.

 

“No.”

 

*

 

It is late when Mark and Eduardo get back to the house. Eduardo is so tired he almost falls walking up the stairs. Mark notices and asks if they should go back to the hospital. Eduardo says no.

 

He is in bed, staring blankly at the TV screen, when Mark knocks on the door. 

 

“I brought you tea,” he announces, holding a mug. 

 

When did Mark even buy the stuff?

 

“You should drink it. And sleep. Please try to sleep,” he says, handing the mug to Eduardo.

 

Eduardo takes it without a word but Mark doesn’t leave.

 

Instead, he adds, “I’m sorry, Wardo.” His voice is small and he is not looking at Eduardo anymore. “I’m sorry about hurting you and… We’ve had this conversation before but I’ve never stopped being sorry for that. So, you should know. I am.”

 

Mark doesn’t wait for Eduardo to add anything, not that Eduardo would. He is to busy with his jaw hanging open to properly form an adequate response. 

 

An hour after, Eduardo still can’t sleep. 

 

*

 

The thing is, Eduardo hates every second of this. 

 

He sits on a sofa, staring at nothing. He sits and tries to watch shows he does not know. He sits in the dark, waiting to fall asleep and hates it, hates it, hates it. 

 

He hears Mark’s words in his head. Replays them over and over again. He expects to feel something. To have a sudden break through that will make him forgive Mark. Instead, Eduardo hates him a little bit more. For knowing a better, happier Eduardo. 

 

He can’t help it. He can’t help the way his heart stutters when he sees Mark - like it always has, like Eduardo is afraid his heart always will. But then there is a lump in his throat that Eduardo has a hard time swallowing against and then his heart, it falls. It drops and sinks into his stomach, and Eduardo feels sick. The sight of Mark makes him sick because it used to be Mark. It used be Mark who made Eduardo’s heart jump and leap and hope. 

 

But now Eduardo feels like he is falling into nothingness, and it is Mark pushing him over the edge. It is Mark who is letting go of Eduardo’s hand like some sort of awful nightmare that Eduardo can’t get rid of.

 

Eduardo hates every minute, every second of this. He would stop. If he knew how, he would stop. But Eduardo has no idea how. He wants to stop hating everything. He tries to stop hating everything. Then Mark will be there, in the same room, and Eduardo hates it. He hates the way his heart drums and wills himself to stop. He doesn’t want his heart to jump and leap and hope. Because he did that, before, and Mark stomped all over it. So Eduardo closes his eyes and chooses hating Mark over trying harder to adjust.

 

Because it is easier.

 

Because it helps.

 

Because Eduardo remembers _point zero three percent_. 

 

He doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice.

 

Even if, apparently, he trusted again.

 

He can’t.

 

Not now. 

 

But then Mark will come downstairs and stare at the screen without saying a word. He brings blankets after the second time, makes tea for Eduardo and smiles at him. 

 

And Eduardo.

 

He hates every second of it. 

 

*

 

“You know,” Mark says one night. “We could just do this upstairs.” He shrugs. “More comfortable, anyway.”

 

“You can go,” Eduardo replies and doesn’t miss Mark flinching.

 

“Wardo, I know-”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Eduardo flinches. “Wardo, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I just. I’m worried,” Mark says, in that small voice he gets when he means something but is nervous about admitting it ( _‘I need you. Please don’t tell him I said that’_ ). “I… You need to sleep, it’s important. I mean, you were the one who used to pretty much drag me to bed when we were in college.” And that, _that_ gets a half-aborted smile from Eduardo that Mark doesn’t miss so he keeps going. About college, about Harvard and fake IDs, about things that Eduardo wishes he could forget but he doesn’t. 

 

He remembers these with perverse, intense clarity. Eduardo wonders if Mark knows how much it hurts. Remembering this and not now. Remembering the past, the hope, the crushing fall. He probably doesn’t because Mark keeps talking. Eduardo tries to tune him out, closing his eyes. Mark talks for a while and eventually he stops talking about Harvard and tells Eduardo about his sisters. Arielle has a boyfriend. Mark wants to hate the guy but he is kind of nice and decent. Mark talks, and Eduardo sinks deeper into the cushions, trying to block him out. 

 

Eduardo has no idea what Mark is talking about by the time he starts to drift off.

 

*

 

The night after, Eduardo makes a point of not speaking to Mark. And Mark is smart, he is a genius for Christ’s sake so het gets it. Mark doesn’t speak about the things that were or are between them. He tells Eduardo about code and Facebook and things Eduardo has never understood until Eduardo yawns and says he’s going to bed.

 

If Mark smiles, Eduardo pretends he can’t see it under the dim light.

 

*

 

It happens again and over again to the point where Eduardo starts getting decent hours of sleep and admits Mark’s voice is not all that irritating in his own head. 

 

Eduardo’s days become brighter, lighter. He starts figuring out his kitchen and the pictures become part of a background he can ignore. He goes through drawers and sees something in the items he had discarded. Eduardo never remembers memories. But he gets feelings. He gets tingling sensations as he goes through the stuff in the house. Eduardo re-learns his laptop, his business. Not everything. Not even much. But it is a start.

 

Sometimes, Eduardo wants to ask about his job. 

 

Mark never offers anything when he talks.

 

Eduardo makes a point of not speaking to him.

 

* 

 

It is late and Mark is still out. Eduardo sits on the sofa, contemplates trying to sleep in his bed but he knows it won’t happen. He turns on the TV. Ten becomes eleven becomes twelve becomes one. Eduardo watches the clock moving forward. He is half-aware of it by three, when he starts to feel heavy and sleepy, finally.

 

That is when he hears Mark at the door. 

 

“Wardo? I thought you-” Mark starts but stops when Eduardo stirs. “I was held up at the office,” Mark offers.

 

Eduardo mumbles something even he cannot make out. Mark turns off the lights and mutes the TV. He sits on his usual spot and talks. Eduardo can barely make Mark’s words. He is so far gone he doesn’t notice Mark shifting closer to him until Eduardo lets his head fall, expecting to land on the sofa and instead meeting Mark’s lap. Mark wriggles, settles in before placing a hand on Eduardo’s head.

 

Mark talks about emergencies and promises to not bring work home. Mark’s fingers work through Eduardo’s hair in a way that feels familiar even if Eduardo can’t place any memories of it. 

 

*

 

Their quiet moments on the couch come to a spectacular end the day Mark decides to deal with it. 

 

Eduardo’s head spins, a pounding head-ache taking over him as Mark apologizes methodically, as he retells what happened, why he did it, the things Mark regrets, the things he doesn’t. Squeezing his eyes shut, Eduardo can feel his pulse racing, every muscle in his body tensing up. When Eduardo opens his eyes again, Mark is still staring at him. 

 

“Wardo.”

 

“You’re a fucking selfish asshole, Mark,” Eduardo growls.

 

“I’m sorry!” Mark snaps, red and fists clenched. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Eduardo. I’m fucking sorry I hurt. And I’m sorry you can’t remember _us_. Believe, I’m fucking sorry. But there is only so much I can do, and you’re being an absolute dick about this.”

 

“Oh, wow, that’s really rich, coming from you!”

 

“ _That’s really_ \- You know, what? Maybe if you stopped playing the victim you’d realize-”

 

“Stop playing the victim! You think I’m doing this because it’s funny? That I don’t remember for kicks and giggles? That I - that I _want_ this?”

 

Out of nowhere, Mark pushes Eduardo. He shoves him hard once, twice before Eduardo hits the wall behind him. 

 

“What the fuck, Mark?” Eduardo sneers.

 

Mark kisses him. He pushes Eduardo again and kisses him square on the mouth. Which is all it takes for Eduardo to kiss him back, angry. His blood should be running hot in his veins but Eduardo feels cold, impossibly cold against Mark. Mark kisses him deeper.

 

Mark moans.

 

Eduardo says “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

 

Mark sucks on Eduardo’s lips, takes over his mouth.

 

Eduardo whispers, “I hate you, I hate you.”

 

Mark covers Eduardo’s lips, shushes him for a few seconds. 

 

Eduardo gasps for air. “I hate you, I hate you.”

 

Mark kisses him harder with his hands around Eduardo’s neck for leverage.

 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

 

And then.

 

Mark drops his head on Eduardo’s shoulder. His voice breaks when he says “I know.” Mark covers his own face with his hands, his fingertips pressing hard on his eyelids. Mark’s shoulders shake. 

 

Instinctively, Eduardo places a hand on Mark’s shoulder but Mark says “I know” again and walks away.

 

It doesn’t hurt much when Eduardo bangs his head against the wall. 

 

He doesn’t think there will be bump, at any rate.

 

Eduardo doubts banging his head will leave any lasting damage. 

 

It is very unlikely.

 

Right.

 

*

 

It starts with another post-it on the coffee pot. 

 

Eduardo wakes up at three in the morning. He goes back to bed but ends up waking again at five. Then at six and seven-thirty. At a quarter to nine, Eduardo decides it is time to officially give up on sleeping. 

 

On the kitchen counter, there is a note.

 

_‘Sorry about last night.’_

 

It is the little things. It is always the little things that get to Eduardo. 

 

Eduardo crumples the post-it in his hand before he throws it away. He goes out for a run but he runs so slow that he might as well be walking. His knees and calves still burn like hell afterward. The good kind of burn, Eduardo thinks. 

 

Eduardo flips through the TV but makes a point of eating early and going to bed before Mark gets home. He is still awake when Mark arrives. Eduardo can hear him at the door and in the kitchen. He can hear Mark walking into the guest room. Opening the door. Eduardo can hear Mark padding to his room. Mark’s steps stop just outside, Eduardo can see the shadow of his feet. Then the lights go off, and Mark walks away.

 

*

 

It starts with a post-it and continues with kiwis and nuts and other random things Eduardo loves and misses. Things and food that remind him of _home_ , like deep purple orchids in the center piece of the dining table and german beer in their fridge. 

 

And Eduardo. He wants to say he is being manipulated because Mark is one cunning asshole if there ever was one but. But. 

 

He still smiles at them. He still feels warm at the sight of flowers and tingly when he eats kiwis. 

 

Eduardo remembers telling Mark about the kiwis as soon as he sees them for the first time. He remembers Kirkland and _‘Mark, fruit is good for you’_. But it doesn’t make him sad. Kiwi can never make him sad because it is also his mãe smoothing back his hair by their pool when the first moved to Miami.  

 

Eduardo never told Mark about the orchids. About the color he likes or why they make him go soft every time. College boys do not discuss flowers unless they are forced to, and Eduardo never was, so he never did.

 

Yet here they are. Eduardo’s favorite at the center of a table Eduardo is barely familiar with.

 

He wants to say Mark is cheating.

 

He wants to say Mark is trying to get his way because he is Mark and Mark likes to get what he wants.

 

But Eduardo can’t.

 

Because it is always the little things, and Mark knows.

 

He knows Eduardo inside out.

 

Mark knows it is not about big gestures but about the things that lead up to those.

 

Eduardo gulps. Because he knows Mark is doing this for him and there is no denying Mark knows how to get under Eduardo’s skin.

 

*

 

Eduardo is having breakfast, sure that Mark has already left. 

 

Mark, however, comes down as Eduardo savors the last of the kiwis. Mark says ‘hi’ before going to the kitchen, where, Eduardo notes with envy, Mark finds within seconds everything he needs for a cup of coffee and two slices of bread. Mark eats in silence, glancing at Eduardo every now and then. Eduardo catches him opening his mouth but never speaking. Eduardo rolls his eyes. 

 

Yet, it is not like Eduardo should have expected anything else.

 

Except.

 

Except Mark finishes his breakfast and crosses the room to where Eduardo is sitting. He takes Eduardo’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together. It is chaste, casual. The sort of kiss that goes and comes between long-time partners.

 

“Come on a date with me,” Mark whispers, his forehead resting on Eduardo’s.

 

Eduardo blinks a couple of times, not sure he heard properly.

 

“Please,” Mark prods, his hand moving to Eduardo’s.

 

Rubbing circles on Eduardo’s hand, Mark waits.

 

The thing is. Mark is touching him. Like this is not strange. And Eduardo supposes it is not weird for Mark. But it should be weird for Eduardo. It is not. It is… familiar. Nice. It is almost like Eduardo has been missing Mark’s touch for months. 

 

Eduardo feels grounded, feels Mark is holding him steady so when he nods and says “Fine”, he still doesn’t find the weirdness.

 

“Seven?” Mark suggests.

 

“My agenda is not exactly full.”

 

Mark ducks his head before chuckling, and Eduardo is caught by how easy this is. 

 

It must be some kind of trick.

 

*  

 

It is… nice, of all things. It is almost like the late nights on their couch except not really because Eduardo has been reading the paper and watching the news. And Eduardo also figures it would be really strange for Mark to be having a one-sided conversation if this is a date. Which it is. So. Eduardo talks. And once he starts speaking, he doesn’t stop.

 

He knows he probably has not said more than ten words to Mark unless they are fighting. Eduardo knows they have not properly spoken to each other. He knows Mark has tried and Eduardo has made sure he has failed each and every time. Eduardo knows, which must be the reason why his heart stammers and picks up again every time he catches Mark’s smile.

 

In the end, when they get home, Mark grabs Eduardo’s hand. They are barely past the front door.

 

He blurts out in a whisper, “Wardo, I love you.” Mark’s eyes shine, and he smiles at Eduardo, unguarded, like this is his one, irrevocable truth. “You were my best friend. You _are_ my best friend. And I want you to be my best friend for the rest of my life.”

 

This time, Eduardo is the one who kisses Mark first. 

 

Because he can feel it. Everything that he was and is and will be. He can feel it even if he can’t remember. It all comes down to this, to now, to Mark in front of him saying the things Eduardo has always wanted, hoped, wished to hear.

 

*

 

That night, Eduardo dreams of Mark in a small cafe. He fumbles with his hands, asking inane questions that the Eduardo in the dream sighs in exasperation.

 

Then Mark stares straight at Eduardo.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, loud and clear.

 

Eduardo wakes up with a start in the middle of the night, Mark fast asleep by his side. 

 

He knows this is how it went down. Eduardo doesn’t have to ask, he just _knows_ he had a real memory, and that, for now, is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> A while back I posted a story called [Maybe if I Live Twice I'll Forget You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/435631). Now, even though I swore I would not repost that, I did. But Before I decided to let go, I start re-rewriting it. This is the story that came out. A remix of sorts, if you will. Although saying that I am remixing my own work sounds incredibly narcissistic, for wich I apologize. I do like this version much, much better, and that is the only reason I'm posting it.


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